


Just As Depressing (But Much More Gay)

by in48frames



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 15:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in48frames/pseuds/in48frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Éponine and her best friend Marius are in love with the same woman: Cosette.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just As Depressing (But Much More Gay)

**Author's Note:**

> A close retelling of the 2012 film, except that Éponine is in love with Cosette, not Marius. Some scenes are rewritten and some are new; any dialogue and plot from the movie does not belong to me. 
> 
> Please note that I am only working with the 2012 film canon, so if I've gotten anything wrong by another canon, bear with me.

_Cosette! Now I remember..._  
 _Cosette! How can it be?_  
 _We were children together._  
 _Look what’s become of me._

When Éponine recognized Cosette on the street that day, she was brought back to the moment of childhood they had shared, so many years ago. She couldn’t say she had sympathized with the child—no, in fact, she had been jealous. Even then, when Cosette pushed a mop and fetched buckets of water from the wood, she was the beautiful blonde cherub that Éponine could never live up to. No one ever asked her to—after all, Éponine was the daughter of the Master of the House. But when she looked at Cosette, with soot on her face and her filthy clothes, Éponine could only see the girl’s untarnishable beauty.

Now, the balance of power had truly shifted. The one who had been well-off yet seething with envy lived on the streets, and the girl who had lived in filth was a princess. Éponine watched Cosette walk off with her wealthy father, in her bounteous gowns and lace, and felt an invisible hand grip her throat. A part of her believed the girl had been at her most beautiful in cinders and rags; but none of her could deny the pure angelic beauty of her present-day form.

It wasn’t only envy she felt, now. It wasn’t then, either. But despite the yearning in her chest, she looked away as Cosette left… and saw her friend, Marius, with a similar expression on his face.

“Éponine! Who was that girl?”

Fear clawed at her belly. “That bourgeois two-a-penny thing!”

“Éponine, find her for me!”

Marius was her best friend; her only friend. How could she deny him a girl who would never give her a second look? What right did she have? Reluctantly, she asked, “What will you give me?

“Anything!”

So it was love at first sight, was it? The past eight years she had spent remembering the blonde waif scurrying from shadow to shadow of her childhood home—her dreams of someday discovering Cosette again, of being the one to rescue her this time—the feeling in her gut that they would meet again someday—it all came down to this. The handsome Marius, a man she loved like her own brother, would steal away the angel of her heart.

So it must be.

* * *

Éponine followed through on her promise, mostly for the sake of her friend Marius, but also for the chance of seeing Cosette again. When she found their home, she lurked around a corner waiting for the gentleman of the house to depart.

At the door, she knocked, and heard shuffling on the other side.

“I am sorry, I cannot open the door to beggars. I can push some coins through the mail slot.”

It was no surprise, but still it hurt. “Cosette, do you know me?”

There was a pause, and then the door opened a few inches. Cosette squinted through the gap, and Éponine stood under her scrutiny.

“It can’t be. Is it you, Éponine?”

With a modicum of relief, Éponine almost smiled. “May I come in?”

She could tell that Cosette was torn. After what Éponine’s family did to her… but Éponine was only a child then… so she let her in, and offered her tea. In the sitting room they sipped from china cups and Éponine looked around at the modest house, so much more than her family could ever now hope for.

After some moments of silence, Cosette asked, “Have you come for a reason, Éponine?”

“I saw you on the street today, with your Papa. I couldn’t believe how you had grown. I thought…”

Cosette waited patiently for her to continue.

“I suppose I thought I might ask for your forgiveness.”

“You are not at fault for what your parents did, Éponine. You were so young then.”

“I was young, yes, but I knew right from wrong. And the truth is, Cosette… I was so jealous of you, I can’t say that I would have helped you if I had the chance. That is my shame.”

Cosette put down her teacup and moved to sit beside Éponine on the chesterfield. “But what had you to be jealous of?”

Éponine lowered her head in shame. “You were so beautiful, even as a child. With your blonde hair and delicate features, you always were a charming wraith. I wished I could look like you for just one day.”

“And mop like me, as well?” There was a teasing lilt to Cosette’s voice; at least she could joke about it now.

“I know it didn’t make sense. And look at us now. Now I have real reason to envy you, and yet…”

Turning her body toward Éponine, Cosette said, “And yet?”

Looking down, Éponine shook her head.

With the tips of her fingers, Cosette gently raised Éponine’s chin. Cupping her cheek in her palm, Cosette said, “You have always been beautiful, Éponine. As a wealthy little girl and as a vagabond young woman. That beauty cannot be disguised or hidden, and it doesn’t fade with age. Believe me,” she said pensively, “you are no less beautiful than I, nor any other bourgeois on the street.”

At the touch of Cosette’s hand Éponine had closed her eyes. She leaned her face into Cosette’s palm and enjoyed for one moment the contact she had longed for.

Misinterpreting Éponine’s expression, Cosette brought her other hand up to frame Éponine’s face and went on, “Do you believe me?”

Éponine tried to open her eyes but the proximity of Cosette’s face overwhelmed her; her eyelids fluttered open and then closed again. All she could do was shake her head. There was a vise around her chest preventing her from breathing or speaking, and she knew there were only two ways to escape it.

Cosette asked, “What else can I do?” and that was all the opening Éponine needed to gaze through her eyelashes, raise her own hand to Cosette’s cheek, and lean in to kiss her.

Taking it innocently, Cosette kissed her briefly and then gently detached, murmuring, “You’re sweet.”

Dejected, Éponine nodded abruptly and rose, heading for the door.

Cosette followed quickly after her, saying, “Éponine—Your friend—”

Hand on the doorknob, Éponine turned back and fixed her stare on Cosette: the picture of hopeful youth. She left through the door and hurried away, calling to the empty air, “Never fear, Cosette. I will send him to you.”

* * *

That very night Éponine led Marius down the narrow streets to the walled garden at the back of Cosette’s home. All the way Marius prattled on about Cosette’s beauty and perfection, how she had been made just for him. The words were daggers to the guilt Éponine was already feeling, for daring to speak to Cosette, for daring to kiss her. The guilt swirled in her stomach, but her heart did not listen; her heart still yearned for Cosette.

She knew there was no hope for her love; she knew that, but as she faded back into the shadows and Marius approached the garden gate, she couldn’t help the burning resentment she felt. As Cosette approached and clutched at the fence, as Cosette and Marius spoke their words of love, Éponine watched. She wished for the pain she felt to be so great as to convince her heart to change—and the pain was great. Still she knew, as Cosette ran inside at her papa’s word, that Éponine would return that night. For Cosette had spotted her there in the dark, and her eyes had lingered on Éponine.

It was a fool’s hope, but it was hers.

When Cosette ran, Marius ducked around a corner, hiding from Cosette’s father. Once the coast was clear, Marius retrieved a handkerchief dropped by Cosette and left, without a glance or a thought for Éponine. In the shadows, she leaned on the stone wall at her side, remembering the picture Cosette made through the fence, with the garden as a backdrop. Even in her nightclothes Cosette was a vision; Éponine felt like nothing more than a street rat.

She was about to turn and go when she heard her father’s voice. She remained in the shadows, tucked into a corner, as she watched to assess the situation.

Several of her father’s so-called colleagues appeared in the alleyway, discussing the potential of plunder in the house beyond the garden. Her father said, “Ten years ago he came and paid for Cosette. I let her go for a song. It’s time we settled the debt. This’ll cost him dear,” and Éponine had to force herself not to move. It sickened her to hear Cosette described as property, but she did not yet dare confront this gang of angry men.

Except while breaking through the gate, one of her father’s men spotted her lurking in the shadows. Her father insulted and berated her as if she were there for him, as though she would follow him to help commit this crime.

She had no choice but to speak up now: “I know this house, I tell you! There’s nothing here for you! Just the old man and the girl. They live ordinary lives.” She prayed her father would listen to her and leave, but she knew her chances were slim.

All of her father’s men tried to berate and chase her off as well, so she was forced to use the only trick she had against five full-grown men: “I’m gonna scream! I’m gonna warn them there!” And despite her father’s threats, she did, sending the men running. She knew she would pay for it, and she didn’t have long to wait, but she couldn’t let them rob or do much worse to Cosette or her father. A slap from her father’s hand and whatever might wait for her at home would surely be worth the benefit to the woman she loved.

Feeling protective and scared, Éponine remained in her discreet corner, watching for the reaction in the house. The windows lit up, but no one came outside. She could see the shadows of two residents play back and forth and she couldn’t help but think of what Cosette might be doing in that room there.

The street being deserted, Éponine sat on the cobblestones and leaned against the stone wall of the building behind her. She could see the garden, and she watched the broken gate; too heavy to swing, it simply listed to the side, providing a gap of inches. Despite her fear, the quiet of the night and the lack of interruption led to Éponine drifting off against the wall.

She dozed lightly, and when she woke it was to the vision of Cosette kneeling beside her, nudging her awake. Éponine said thickly, “You’ve ruined your nightgown.”

“I was worried,” Cosette smiled. “A young girl collapsed on the cobblestones, what could I have thought?”

Éponine blinked several times, trying to wake herself up, and looked around at her surroundings. It was yet dark, still far from dawn. “What are you doing out here again?”

Cosette apologetically held a letter up to the light; on the front was scrawled ‘Marius.’ “I was going to leave it in the gate, but now you’re here…”

Éponine clambered, graceful as possible, to her feet, then offered her hand to Cosette to help her up. “What is the matter, Cosette?”

Despite her earlier smile, Cosette’s face was drawn, and she wrung her hands around the letter. “We are leaving here tonight. Within days we will leave France. I wanted Marius to know. Tomorrow I will be gone.”

Éponine’s stomach dropped; she feared she may fold over from the pain.

Gone. Leaving France, and with only a note to Marius as goodbye. Éponine could hardly believe it.

After a hard swallow, Éponine said, “I will take it to him.”

“Oh Éponine, you don’t know what this means,” Cosette said, rushing forward to embrace Éponine and press the note into her hand. Éponine dropped her forehead to Cosette’s shoulder, defeated.

Cosette stepped back, looking anxiously toward the house. “I must go.”

With her heart in her throat, Éponine said, “May I kiss you goodbye?”

In response, Cosette held out her hands. Éponine clasped them in hers and leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to each of Cosette’s cheeks. “I hope we meet again.”

An odd look in her eye, Cosette nodded. “As do I. Now farewell. And Éponine, please—”

Holding up a hand, Éponine smiled and nodded, then turned and ran. She ran until she was far from the house and until the rain came down to mask her tears.

Though the streets were deserted, Éponine walked for hours in the heavy rain. The truth of the situation was too heavy to bear, so she imagined that Cosette was by her side. They would ignore their heavy skirts and dance in the rain, twirling sloppily and leaping from foot to foot. At the end of the walk they would return to Éponine’s room and divest themselves of their ruined dresses. Éponine would sleep in Cosette’s arms; washed clean by the storm, in bed together without finery or lace, they would be equals.

She smiled to herself, but her tears fell still, and when she opened her eyes, she was alone. As the spell faded, Éponine found herself on the rain-drenched street, dress filthy and exponentially heavier from the rain. She could feel the note pressing against her skin under her corset, and with the same mixture of guilt and envy, she went to deliver it.

Just outside Marius’s door, she lost the battle with temptation and read the note. The words of love made her head spin and her stomach roil. How did she get mixed up in this? How could she of all people be the messenger of these words? She refolded the note and tucked it back away over her heart.

Éponine told Marius only that Cosette had left. He set off at a run toward her house, and although Éponine had traveled this route so many times in the last few days, she followed. Stopping at the gate, she watched as he peered into windows and banged at the door. _At least I got to say goodbye_ , Éponine thought, feeling grateful and ashamed at the same time.

Though they loved the same person, Éponine wished to give comfort to her friend Marius. But he wouldn’t allow her close and so she walked slowly behind his dejected figure.

* * *

As with the other impoverished youths in their neighbourhood, Éponine was swept up in the idea of revolution. Marius encouraged her to get involved, and she saw it as an excuse to get closer to her best friend.

But Marius seemed to be losing interest in their friendship, as it became clear that Cosette would not be coming back.

Since they left the inn, Éponine’s life had been a roughshod tumble through years. She had been a pickpocket and a shyster, a street urchin and a panhandler, but none of it had been her choice and none of it had felt much like a life. Her family was crooked to the core, and though she had tried for years to be a part of their activities, it had never felt right.

When she met Marius and began to get carried away by the revolution, she began to feel as though she might have found a place to _live_. Cosette had brought with her a flash of light, one Éponine would have happily accepted as only friendship.

Now both of them were gone, and all she had left was the revolution.

She couldn’t go back to life with only her crooked family for company.

She couldn’t continue committing crimes on demand.

She would fight with the revolution.

* * *

 

It seemed to Éponine that Marius paid no mind at all when she stopped showing up to meetings or anywhere else. He was too busy to notice her absence, and far too busy to notice her transformation.

Sitting on the floor of her room in the slum, she cried as she bound her chest. Saying goodbye to her dresses and corsets, she tucked her long hair—the only thing for which she allowed herself pride—under a boy’s cap. In an outfit pilfered from the trunks of a family with a pre-teen boy, Éponine dressed slowly, watching herself in the filthy pane of her single window.

She didn’t quite believe her disguise, but she hoped the sheer number of young men running to and fro would distract any suspicion. The loose layers concealed her body; if anything gave her away, it would be her face, so she would keep it turned down.

(No one could have foreseen the massacre to come; thus far, the revolution had been largely non-violent. But a part of Éponine knew, as she studied that male copy of herself, that this would be the final image of herself she ever saw. She cried that night, over so many losses she could hardly distinguish between them. When she woke the next morning, she was ready for battle. It was now or never, and her choice was now.)

When she showed up at headquarters, no one even looked her in the face. She quickly fell in with the teenaged boys, keeping her head down and her mouth shut as she helped prepare for the next move, always the next move. No one looked at her twice, and that only reinforced her decision. She would help the resistance; she would help Marius. If it was the only good she would do in her life, it would be more than she’d done before.

The next days passed quickly. Though Éponine was constantly wary of revealing her identity, there was so much to do and so much running back and forth that she had little time to worry. She marched with the men and sang with the men, and when the time came, she was by their side building the barricade. She held a gun; she shot a gun; she loaded guns for her comrades. If she’d wanted a change in her life, she couldn’t imagine any more drastic. Though her chest binding bruised and her cap itched like nothing else, she felt a part of something important. And even though Marius seemed to have forgotten her, he looked so grand atop that barricade with his rifle.

She wasn’t quite sure how it happened. She was helping reload, almost directly behind Marius, safe behind the barricade. With seconds to spare, less, she saw the rifle aimed at Marius’s heart and she leaped before she could think. She had already let go of this life, and if she had the chance to save a man who was as close as her brother, she would take it.

The next thing she knew, Éponine was on the ground, back to the barricade, abdomen folded over her knees. She didn’t feel any pain, but she was cold to her bones and she felt the blood flowing past her hands pressed to the wound.

She knew that she was dying.

She expected to die there alone.

She did not despair.

“Éponine! What have you done?”

Éponine felt only half present. Half of her was floating somewhere else, but that didn’t matter. She wasn’t alone anymore. Her guilt was miles away, but she remembered the note tucked within her clothing. She had kept it close to her heart, and as she handed it over, she gave away the only piece of Cosette she would ever have.

It hadn’t been hers to start with.

“Here... It’s from Cosette... I kept it from you. Don’t be too hard on me... I half-believe I loved her all my life.”

“Éponine, you’re hurt. You need some help.”

This final concern from Marius touched her heart, but she knew there was no help for her now. Dreamily, fading, she said, “Don’t you fret, M’sieur Marius. I don’t feel any pain. A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now.”

With a desperation Éponine was beyond feeling, Marius said, “But you will live, Éponine—dear God above. If I could close your wounds with words of love—”

Through the drops of rain on her lashes, Éponine thought she saw a lace gown, porcelain skin, golden hair. “Just hold me now, and let it be. Shelter me... Comfort me...”

“I will stay with you ‘til you are sleeping.”

Already dreaming, of flowers and lace and a warm embrace, Éponine said as the strength ebbed out of her, “That’s all I need to know. And you will keep me safe, and you will keep me close, and rain... will make the flowers... grow.”

Feeling the warmth of her only ally close at her side, and the warmth of her blood on her rain-chilled skin, Éponine closed her eyes and left her earthly body behind.

The hopeless misery of Éponine’s life ended with her death. After life there is no envy; only joy. When Marius and Cosette were wed, Éponine looked down upon them with her blessing, for each made the other happiest. All she wanted for both of them was a life full of happiness: her best friend and the love of her life.

After life, there is no regret. Éponine would be warm and radiant, loved and loving; and she would never be alone again.


End file.
